


(Your Heart is Strong) Enough

by agenthill



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [8]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Fluff, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agenthill/pseuds/agenthill
Summary: Fareeha has assumed that, because she is not a man, she must be a woman, but now she wonders if that is truly the case.  Perhaps, she is something else entirely.Or,Fareeha may or may not be non-binary.  She’s figuring it out.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Viceter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viceter/gifts).



> Things to know before reading this: Angela is a trans woman. See the last fic in this series for more on that.
> 
> Ties in with [this](http://agenthill.tumblr.com/post/150956237676/more-transmercy) and [this](http://agenthill.tumblr.com/post/150996690941/banging-on-table-trans-mercy-trans-mercy-trans).
> 
> Originally posted to [tumblr](http://agenthill.tumblr.com/post/151091484931/your-heart-is-strong-enough).

An innocent comment—a compliment, really—is what throws Fareeha's world off balance.  Recalled Overwatch may not, strictly speaking, be legal, but following several high profile and successful missions, they are comfortably able, once again, to be in public, without worry of immediate arrest.  Having at last been told that going off base for recreational purposes—so long as they stay with another agent—is now allowed, she and Angela are taking advantage of their newfound freedom to go out to dinner at a relatively nice restaurant.  Knowing such, Fareeha wears a suit.  Being three-pieces, it is perhaps more formal than the restaurant calls for, but most of Fareeha's clothing is athletic gear, or hideously patterned button front shirts, or in some other way unsuitable for the atmosphere of the restaurant, and ill-matched with Angela's casual elegance.

As this is the first time they have had occasion to actually go out together, this is also the first time Angela has seen Fareeha in anything besides the aforementioned athletic gear and shirts; Angela's reaction, therefore, takes Fareeha by surprise.

"Don't you look handsome," she practically purrs, and _oh,_ Fareeha never imagined that being told such might feel so right.  Her cheeks warm, and she stumbles just a bit with her words as she takes Angela's hand in her own, ready to leave for the night.

Try as she might to focus on conversation, Fareeha's mind drifts for the rest of the night back to that sentence, to that word.   _Handsome._ Why does it feel so nice to be called such?  Likely, Angela meant nothing by it—she has known Angela to refer to other women as handsome in the past; the term seems to hold no gendered connotations for her—but Fareeha wonders if, perhaps, there is a reason she reacted so strongly to the use of such a typically masculine term for herself.

Fareeha is not, she knows, a man.  Never has she thought of herself as anything approaching such; she has often presented in a manner that is masculine, has long considered herself to be a butch lesbian, but her thoughts on her connection to masculinity have ended there.  Butchness is not, in and of itself, directly equatable to masculinity, and so there was nothing more for her to ponder.  Or, so she thought.  But, perhaps, if she feels so strongly about being called handsome, if she reacts so positively to such a term, there is more at play than she allowed herself to think about, before.

After all, one need not be a _man_ to identify with the masculine and masculinity.  And has not Fareeha long occupied a relatively masculine space?  Although her role models have almost exclusively—with the exception of Reinhardt—been women, she works in a male-dominated field, one filled with expectations of typically "masculine" behavior, and she feels that she fits in quite well with her male comrades, slides easily into their banter and playful teasing.  Her choice in clothing, also, can hardly be considered feminine; it is patterned after butch women before her, yes, and is chosen only because she finds it comfortable, but it is near exclusively "men's" clothing she wears.  And has she not felt most comfortable in sports bras, flattening her chest until her silhouette seems more typical of a man?  Perhaps, she thinks, perhaps there is something she missed.

Fareeha has always assumed that being transgender was just something one _knew,_ instinctively, that one's gender was something one need not think about.  One was something, or they were not.  Because she never objected to being called a woman, because she gravitated towards other women, she assumed she was one; now, she is not so confident in this.  After all, she has never strongly felt that she _is_ a woman, only that she is not a man.

Not really knowing what else to do, or whom else to turn to, Fareeha asks Angela for clarification.

"How did you know," says she, one afternoon, sitting on an empty stool in Angela's lab, "That you were transgender?"

"I'm not really sure," replies Angela, rather unhelpfully, not even turning to look at her, "I suppose I've always known I was a woman, to some degree. Even when my parents were still alive, I knew I wanted to wear dresses and have long hair."

"But those aren't womanhood," Fareeha is more lost, now, than ever, "Are they? I mean, neither of those things apply to all women," _Neither applies to me,_ she thinks, "So I guess what I mean to ask is, how do you know you are a woman?"

Angela turns to face her then, looks at her sharply, "Fareeha Amari," says she, sounding none too pleased, "If anyone else asked me that question, I would ask them to remove themself from my presence immediately, and _permanently._ I know you don't mean anything by it, because I know _you_ , but whatever it is you are really trying to ask, you need to ask differently."

This is one of the few times Angela has ever, _ever_ been sharp with Fareeha, and she knows that in her—admittedly quite poor—wording she has struck a nerve.  Never would she deliberately imply that Angela is anything other than a woman, or any different from the cisgender women they know, but now that she reconsiders her question, it could certainly be taken that way.

Immediately, she apologizes, tells Angela as much, watches her lover's posture relax somewhat as the words are said, reaches the point where she ought to explain what it was she meant... and falters.  How can she explain that which she does not, herself, understand?

When it becomes apparent to Angela that her answer is not forthcoming, Fareeha finds herself being prompted, "Why ask, then, Fareeha?"  Even after Fareeha's apology, Angela's voice sounds smaller than usual, sounds hurt.  She must find a way to say this, owes as much to Angela.

"I didn't," she starts, hesitates, stops, "That is to say I...." How to ask this?  Another pause, silence between them.  This time, Angela is patient.

"It isn't _your_ womanhood I'm questioning," she finally blurts out, and it is a strange thing to have out in the open.  Now that she has said it, it feels real.  Now that she has put into words what she has been thinking, she has to face it, and the implications.

"Oh, Fareeha," says Angela gently, moving close so that she can put a hand on her forearm, "What brought this on?"

So she tells Angela, tells her how right it felt to be called handsome for the first time in her life, how she has been considering her gender non-conformity, and what implications it may have, how she has begun questioning her prior assumption that, just because she was not a man, and it did not feel _wrong_ to be called a woman, that she must be cisgender.  She spills out all of her uncertainty, her fears—for she _is_ afraid, afraid of what this might mean that she may have been wrong about something so essential to her very being as her gender, afraid of how others in her life might react—and talks until she feels she has nothing left to say.

"I cannot give you an answer," says Angela, after a few moments of silence have passed between them, "I cannot tell you who you are, or how to feel.  All I can tell you is this: it does not matter to me if you are a woman or not.  It does not matter to me if you try going by a different name, or different pronouns, and change your mind later.  It does not matter to me if this is all just a flash in the pan, and you decide tomorrow that you are the same as you had previously assumed.  I'll love you no matter what, and I'm here for you, when you need me."

In the moment, Angela's reassurances feel better than an answer.  Pulling Angela into her arms for a hug, Fareeha begins to think that perhaps, everything will be fine as it is, and nothing need change.

By the next morning, Fareeha realizes that is not the case.  While Angela slept—peacefully, for once—Fareeha was left awake, still thinking about womanhood, or a lack thereof.  Many of her assumptions about herself have been predicated upon the fact that she is (was?) a woman: her lesbianism, her butchness, her desire to be a role model for young girls.  What happens to those aspects of herself, if she is not actually so?  Do they disappear?  Are they in some way diminished, if her gender identity is something beside what she had previously assumed?

So, come morning, she throws herself into learning more about gender, and identity.  What she finds raises a whole host of new questions: Is she dysphoric?  She does not thinks so, but then, if she has always preferred to dress in such a way that de-emphasizes her figure, perhaps she ought to try binding, just in case—and if she hates it, there will be no loss, she can simply donate the binder to someone else.  Would she prefer gender neutral pronouns?  She does not think so; there are not any native to Arabic, and it does not bother her to think of herself in terms of _she_ and _her_ , but perhaps she ought to ask Angela to help her try them out in English, anyway.  Can she be non-binary, and retain her lesbian identity?  This is a clear cut yes, and Fareeha is relieved.  Are her assumptions of gender and gendered behavior essentialist, and based upon the imperialist influence of another country upon her culture?  This question is harder to answer; after all, what does Fareeha know of traditional Egyptian gender roles and identities?  What does she know of how she might have felt, growing up in a world where Napoleon never sent his army to her homeland?

Perhaps, she thinks, she cannot divorce her experience of gender from such influence.  Perhaps it is senseless for her to attempt to align herself within a system which, at its core, is based upon assumptions which may not apply to her.  Perhaps her difficulty in orienting herself according to gender is because she was born into a system which was never intended for people like her, and she ought not try to fit it, only try to be herself, and to be comfortable in living as she wills.

What is clear to Fareeha, after further contemplation, is this: she aligns herself with womanhood, relates to at least some aspects of it, even if other parts do not quite fit her, or feel right only sometimes.  Whether or not she necessarily identifies as a woman is moot, as she cannot clearly define what she believes it means to _be_ a woman; what matters is, she is near enough that it does not matter to her if others perceive her to be woman, and there is no further point to classifying herself, to fitting herself into a category so arbitrarily, if she shall share it with no one.  All that matters is that she presents in a way which makes her comfortable, and happy.

So she experiments.  For the first time in a long time, Fareeha buys and wears a dress, and decides that, nice as it looks, it is not for her.  Her hair, she shaves on the sides, such that worn down her hair seems long, and typically feminine, but pulled back is a more masculine hairstyle; this, she likes, and thinks she will keep.  Differing pronouns are more difficult for her, for she cannot use them alone.  Even asking Angela to use them is not especially helpful, as Angela does not speak of her in the third person when it is just the two of them.  In the end, she decides that bringing someone else in on all of this, explaining to another person her recent feelings on womanhood (or a lack thereof), is too much trouble to be worth it, when it does not bother her to be called _she_ and _her_ , especially when she does not know that it will last.

Binding is the last thing Fareeha tries, and it is the thing she takes the longest to reach a verdict on.  Not only does it take her longer to find out which sort of binder might be suitable for her, and of good quality, it takes time for the binder to arrive, and when it does, she is not immediately comfortable wearing it in front of anyone else, including Angela.  For whatever reason, this feels more private than anything which has come previously, feels like something she ought to keep to herself, until she is sure; much like the first training bras she wore under her shirt as a young girl, she would be embarrassed if anyone discovered this before she was ready to reveal it, until she knew how to explain it, why she feels she needs to try it.  After all, her haircut, the dress, both are not without the realm of normal activity of women who are most definitely cis, but _binding?_ Fareeha has never known anyone to bind who was not transgender, and if the others see her binding she fears that they may reach a conclusion prematurely about her identity, might ask her questions she does not yet know the answer to.

So she binds in private, slipping the garment on only when she knows Angela to be working on a time sensitive experiment, when her mother is also busy, and when the others will not come looking for her. Some days, she likes it, looks in the mirror, sees her flat chest, and feels _right._ Some days, it is not so; while she never _dis_ likes wearing the binder, there are days on which wearing it does not noticeably improve her mood, and then it is not worth the hassle of wearing it, is not worth worrying about being discovered.

Angela knows about the binder, knows she is wearing it, has known from very early on, recognizing the impressions still present on her skin, and saying nothing on the matter save for a warning not to wear it overlong, to take it off immediately if she begins to feel dizzy or short of breath.  Other than that, it is unspoken knowledge between them, is something they both know to exist, but never address.  At first, Fareeha was glad, but now that time has passed, she knows that binding makes her happy, and suspects that she knows where she stands with regard to her gender.  There is only one final test: showing Angela, and learning how it is that _others_ seeing her like this makes Fareeha feel.

When at last she makes the final leap, it is impulsive.  Angela returns to their quarters from the lab earlier than Fareeha expected, and Fareeha, rather than removing her binder as she normally might, pulls up her hair, stuffs a sock down her pants, and steps out of their bedroom.

Angela's reaction to seeing her this way is immediate, and positive, if non-verbal.  She flushes, deeply, and gives Fareeha a look which is one akin to wonder.

This is good, is a relief to Fareeha, but is not what matters.  What matters is this: the moment feels right.  What matters is this: Fareeha feels undeniably herself.  What matters is this: she is whole.

While she may not know if she is a woman or not, while she may not know what womanhood _means,_ Fareeha knows she is herself, knows she is happy to be this way, and that is enough.

To be herself, as she is, is enough.

_Fareeha_ is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I made a post on tumblr about Fareeha being maybe non-binary and enough people liked it that I decided to make it a fic. I am easily influenced, I guess.
> 
> Title is from 1D's Through the Dark.
> 
> I have other Plighted Hands stuff in the works but this week I've been focused on answering prompts on tumblr & such and not... this series... so we shall see when that goes up.
> 
> As always, feel free to drop me a line, and have a great day!
> 
> Rory


End file.
